


Light the Fire in Me

by DarkmoonBoar



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games)
Genre: Cuddling, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluffy Smut, Frotting, Gay Sex, Gay knight, Intercrural Sex, Kinda, Kissing, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Making Out, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Non-Penetrative Sex, Pining, Resolved Sexual Tension, Smut, awkward virgins, smutty fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-19
Updated: 2017-04-19
Packaged: 2018-10-20 21:21:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10671012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkmoonBoar/pseuds/DarkmoonBoar
Summary: The Chosen Undead goes to confess his feelings for the blacksmith down in New Londo. Little does he know that the feelings are mutual.





	Light the Fire in Me

**Author's Note:**

> For skelephibian.

Though the lift down to New Londo never took long, today that small gap of time filled with the sounds of clinking chains and grinding stone seemed to go on forever. As the elevator slid down, the Chosen Undead anxiously paced, his arms crossed tight around his broad chest, as he wondered what to say to Rickert of Vinheim. Oh, Rickert… the somewhat abrasive, mage smith managed to wiggle his way into the knight's heart. As it reached the bottom and the light became dim like twilight, he cursed softly to himself, running out of time to think of things to say that didn't make him sound incredibly foolish. Raspy cries of the Hollows that seemed to ignore his presence filled his ears as his boots clanked on the eroded cobblestone.

But soon, the thundering of his blood and heart and the vibrating butterflies in his stomach overtook all his other senses. They even made him forget about the grimy scent of the stagnant, underground water. _You can do this_ , he thought to himself, though it did little to reassure or convince him. Muscle memory had made this so routine, he didn't have time to stop himself as he strode down the last few steps. The knight had no time to collect his thoughts, and barely a moment to let out his held breath when the blacksmith's nasal, strident voice startled him.

“Oh, hello. I was wondering when you'd return, Favian.”

Taking in a sharp breath, the Chosen Undead stammered, “R-r-rickert. Forgive me, you startled me out of my thoughts.” He took off his helmet, revealing his delicate, kind-looking features and a long ponytail of fine, chestnut brown hair. His lips tug into a warm, if somewhat bashful, smile. Hearing his name come out of the other man's mouth made him feel all wobbly and melted, like pudding that didn't quite set. Gripping his helmet in his left hand by the visor, he wrapped his other hand around one of the bars of the mage's cell.

“Are you wanting me to smith you something?” the man from Vinheim inquired softly, the expression on his youthful face amused, “I've been hoping to make use of that strange magic ember you brought me.” Rickert lifted his gaze up entirely so that his bright eyes glimmered in the poor lighting of New Londo. His earnest, innocent expression had the knight momentarily lost for words. _Maybe the man didn't share these feelings, or perhaps he didn't realize I have these feelings_.

Despite the slight sinking feeling, Favian replied as cheerfully as he could, “No, I came here to talk to you. About… what we are, if that makes sense?” Gazing into the subject of his desires' eyes, he felt his face begin to heat up and his mouth run dry. The precious few moments between the answer and the mage smith's reply seemed to crawl on forever. Rickert blinked and took in the knight's words, glancing briefly down at the floor, as if not knowing what to say.

Finally, he tilted his head upwards and looked the Chosen Undead right in the eye. “I… very much enjoy your company,” the man admitted, turning his head away slightly… and were his cheeks turning pink..? “But it never occurred to me you might see in me such a light. Truth be told, I thought you were just being nice because of the weapons I enchant for you.” For once, he stood up from his usual sitting position and inched up close to what essentially functioned as a barred window to look deeply into the knight's eyes.

“I rather like you and see you as more than… just a customer. Or a friend,” the smith said barely above a whisper as he closed his gloves hands around the metal encased ones of the Chosen Undead. A bashful smile seemed to light up his face. The knight grinned from ear to ear, elated at the admission, that he _felt the same_. Now, the only obstacle was, well… the mage smith's cell. Though the slender mage could fit through the gap between two of the right most (the knight's right, anyways), the other Undead could not, even without his armor. And Rickert was reticent to leave his cell.

Given the actual masonry of the smith's prison looked solid (at least, the parts that were still together), Favian couldn't just break through the walls. However, given the other bars were slightly bent in places (presumably, not from Rickert), he imagined with enough effort, he could bent the two furthest apart enough to move through… or possibly just try to destroy their seating. Truly, the Chosen Undead found it miraculous it survived the humidity in the cavern New Londo still stood. With no one to take care of the architecture, even the stone became to crumble.

Give how cruel Time destroys all, it seemed all that more urgent for the knight to just  _be_ with this man, even just for a night. 

The knight tested out the bars by wiggling them, seeing if the mortar holding them to the stone had eroded way or simply gave out.  _Of course_ , the ones furthest left, despite being warped, had absolutely no give and refused to budge. Though the second to last felt like the bottom could be wiggled out, the top being so secure prevented it. Meanwhile, Rickert watched with raised eyebrows, stepping away from the aperture and into the darker part of the cell.

With a little ingenuity, the Chosen Undead managed to break the bottom part of the metal rod out of its foundation after struggling with it for the better quarter of an hour. Getting the top half freed proved to be less of a challenge, only requiring a few strong back and forth motions before it clattered to the floor.

Wiping the sweat off of his brow, the knight stepped forward into the darkness of the cell. The two stared at each other, before the mage smith finally piped, “But now the Hollows will be able to get to me!” He looked away from the Chosen Undead and wrung his hands, all the while inching towards the knight. When Favian wrapped an arm around his shoulders, Rickert only drew himself closer, though he kept his hands off the other man.

“You have a staff. Aren’t you capable of casting spells?” the knight chuckled, smiling warmly and nuzzling the small bit of jet black hair peeking out of the smith’s cap. With the two of them this close, he realized they were the exact same height but with different body types, with Rickert being lithe and the Chosen Undead broad and soft.

After the mage leaned into his touch, Favian finally wrapped the other arm around him. Against his neck, the smith replied, “Doesn’t matter.”

“If you let me take off my armor, you’ll be a lot more comfortable. My underclothes are much better to snuggle against than metal,” the knight murmured quietly in his ear before moving his head back to look at the wonderful, if slightly sarcastic, man from Vinheim he had fallen in love with.

Rickert backed away, and gave him a brisk nod to consent to the line of events. He observed with a straight face, watching the Chosen Undead unbuckle straps, take off his gauntlets, and slowly take off every piece of his armor. Favian carefully placed each piece of the armor on the ground, in an organized group to make it easier and faster to put it all back on. Beneath it, he wore simple gray clothing that felt surprisingly soft to the touch.

Unsurprisingly, the mage smith immediately returned to standing close by so that the knight could wrap his arms around him. The incredibly soft sideburns of the mage brushed up against his neck. Smiling faintly, the Chosen Undead gently kissed his forehead, all the while rubbing his back, noting just how soft and silky the smith’s uniform felt. And underneath, he could feel Rickert’s lean muscles built up from smithing armor and weapons. The man smelled of cinders, metal, and a touch of sandalwood cologne. As his eyes adjusted to the dark of the cell that was deceptively spacious, he could make out the small anvil and furnace in one corner, his cot that barely fit one person just out of sight of the window, and a small basin and pump in the opposite end to the smithing gear.

“Pretty bare bones, isn’t it?” Favian remarked, feeling a keen twinge of sympathy for the mage who had been imprisoned here for however long. He briefly pulled away from Rickert to stroke his face with the back of his fingers.

He shrugged at the knight and replied crisply, “A  _far_ cry from what I’d have at Vinheim but, well, they also sent me here for being Undead, so there  _is_ that.” Softly sighing, his eyes gazed into the knight’s own before pressing up against the knight again for a moment.

“Out of all Undead, out of all people, you chose me?” he whispered into the Chosen Undead’s ears with a voice as clearly baffled as it was excited. His lips parted, and both his eyebrows arched up as he leaned back to look at the knight. Between just how large his eyes appeared, and how they scintillated with hope, Favian couldn’t resist nodding and kissing the mage’s pointed nose. As he smiled widely, the smith closed his eyes. _This couldn’t even be better in my dreams_ , the knight thought.

Then, Rickert awkwardly moved his soft lips onto Favian’s, briefly bumping their noses together before finally landing a peck. The both of them sheepishly withdrew their heads before the knight gave him a reassuring smile. “I’m not experienced, either,” the Chosen Undead admitted, clutching at the mage’s narrow waist, “You’d be the first boyfriend I’ve ever had.” Before diving in with his own kiss, he bit his lip and gave the mage smith a look over to admire his form.

This time, their kiss contained far more grace, though it still had an element of exploration, trying different things to see if they worked. As their lips roamed over the other, so did their hands, remaining in chaste places for the time being. But it didn’t take long for both of them to become emboldened and their tentative touches become confident, even needy. Rickert’s whimpering and rubbing up against the knight did him in.

A velvety soft, warm tongue stroked the parted lips of the mage, only breaching them when the blacksmith’s own sought it out. The Chosen Undead’s hands went to grab at and fondle Rickert’s toned buttocks. It wasn’t exactly the roundest or the softest, but in his hands, it didn’t feel bony or nothing but hard muscle. He felt himself grow hard against the mage as the feel of the rear in his hands enticed him. Hands of his boyfriend clutched at the small of his back, before dipping down between the knight’s small clothes and bare flesh.

Those leather gloved hands cupped his own with lustful assertiveness before gliding over each buttock. The two briefly broke apart to catch their panting breath. “Your armor… made it seem like you weren’t so…” Rickert paused, his voice rich and husky, “Your arse is quite pillowy, and I mean that as a compliment.” His breath hitched in the last portion of his speech. Favian began to kiss what little neck the dark clothing of the mage exposed. After, he followed the same area with his tongue, delighting in the faint taste of salt on the other Undead’s skin and the shuddering of his breath.

Humming, the Chosen Undead slowly lead the two of them over onto the bed. Slowly, he sat down on the creaky cot and patted his lap, glancing up at Rickert with eyes filled with passion. The mage chuckled in his throat before happily straddling the knight, all but jumping at him in the process. Underneath the both of them, the mattress made squeaky sounds of protest. Without needing direction, the knight clutched at the mage’s hips, once more seeking out the small bit of flesh exposed by the collar of his coat and frilled undershirt with his lips. Not only did Rickert offer his neck, he began to rub up against the knight, moaning at the friction of their clothed groins pressing against one another.

Eager and impatient, Favian began to undo the clasps on the front of the mage smith’s cloak, then the buttons on the undershirt, not satisfied until he peeled the layers open and exposed the mage’s chest. Much like the knight surmised, beneath the clothing, Rickert possessed a wiry body. A line of dark hair trailed from his navel up right below his define pectorals, and a light dusting of freckles decorated his shoulders. At the sight of the smith’s erect nipples, the Chosen Undead slid a hand up from his hips to roll one of them between his thumb and index finger.

The mewl that poured out of the man’s mouth prompted the knight to start lapping at the mage’s clavicles, memorizing the dips by the bones and every hitched breath that followed the movement of that scorching, writhing tongue. Then, his lips formed a path up back to the mage’s panting lips. Their lips reunited, seeking out the softness and the warmth of each other as the two of them moaned and ground against one another. Soon, the two deepened the kiss and their hands went back to exploring the other.

Eventually, Rickert lost patience and gently pushed the knight backwards until his back touched the cold stone brick wall. He removed his tongue and lips from the Chosen Undead’s, looked in his eyes, and began to caress the man’s inner thighs. Leaning over, the mage wantonly whispered in his ears, “I love the way your body feels against mine.” The hand traveled to the knight’s clothed erected and palmed it, merely a ghost of a touch at first, then far more confident, until his gliding became frantic groping.

“Mm… I want to feel you in my hands. You feel so bloody thick,” the smith rasped again in Favian’s ears before he sat up to take off his gloves.

While he took them off, the Chosen Undead asked him, “Have you had sex with anyone before?”

“No, have you?” the smith quickly responded as he began to undo the laces on the crotch of the knight’s pants. 

Feeling the warmth of the hands of the mage through his small clothes made him gasp, “I’m a virgin also.”

“How about we sit side to side, so we can… you know... see what the other one’s... got?” Rickert then requested, his cheeks heating up significantly and turning a blotchy shade of red that mostly just looked dark in the lighting. Crawling off of his new lover, the mage sat beside him, before slowly undoing his trousers and lowering both them and the undergarments beneath to his midthigh, exposing his twitching erection framed by dark curls. As he cradled his testicles, the Chosen Undead wordlessly followed suit, sliding his pants and underwear down to his knees.

Favian possessed a thicker but shorter member, with a loose hood that still covered the head when fully hard. He gave it a single stroke, pulling back the foreskin to expose the large, leaking head. Noticing how nervous the mage smith beside him looked, he wrapped an arm around him and purred, “You have nothing to worry about. Your cock is  _very_ pretty.” Once he finished the sentence, his lips planted a smacking kiss to Rickert’s cheek.

With a fond and sincere grin on his face, the Chosen Undead took off the man’s hat and set it aside. Afterwards, he ran his hands through it, noting how silky and clean it feels between his fingers, and kisses the smith on the temple. His hand rove back to the open cloak and shirt, gently pulling them apart to expose more of the Vinheimian’s defined chest before tugging at them in a bid to take them all the way off. Rickert quickly took off the cloak and shirt sleeve by sleeve as his flush began to creep down his neck.

The knight’s hands dove down to softly fondle and caress the mage’s muscular and slightly hairy inner thighs, up and down, left to right, sometimes diving down far enough to caress the beginning swell of his buttocks. Though they would get close, his hands never quite touched his genitals. Rickert’s eyes shut, though he remained silent. “Do you… like that?” the Chosen Undead questioned, watching the rise and fall of the mage smith’s chest.

He turned towards Favian and nodded before answering, “I love it.” Biting his lip, he spread his legs apart eagerly, which elicited a thrumming chuckle from the knight. This time, the hand and fingers roamed up the thigh, sliding close to the shaft of the smith’s rigid and twitching cock. They wandered back down to the inner thighs, following the same rhythm he had built up previously. Each swing by his sac and member had Rickert faintly whining and subtly arching his back.

Finally, after minutes of just teasing the mage and evoking increasingly louder and needier mewls, the Chosen Undead took the man’s longer prick in hand. Slowly and delicately, he began to stroke up and down the mage’s proud length. “Ahhh!” Rickert explained as he rose his hips up from the cot in order to meet the knight’s touch, “Yes,  _please_ , m-more.” Favian’s hand began to pump faster as the mage thrust into his hand and whimpered loudly. The smith’s hands grabbed at the bedding, desperate for leverage as his calves and thighs tensed.

At some point, the mage decided he wanted more, and pushed the Chosen Undead’s hand off in order to abruptly climb into his lap. Panting, he slotted his rod up to the knight’s and wrapped a hand around them. He wrapped his free arm around Favian and began to buck his hips, groaning quietly at the sweet friction. The two of them leaned forward until their foreheads rested against one another. The knight’s hands went to grab at Rickert’s rear.

“Mmm, this feels and looks fantastic,” the Chosen Knight moaned as his fingers dug into the well-muscled flesh, shallowly thrusting into the smith’s hand. His hands kneaded the buttocks in his hands. White heat coiled up in his loins; given his excitement and his inexperience, he wouldn’t last much longer. Nerves in his body coursed with pleasure that made him feel giddy, like he was having an out of body experience, like he would explode. Pressure kept building and building, until a few minutes in, Favian gasped and shuddered as he ejaculated all over Rickert’s taut stomach.

_Shit_ .

“Forgive me,” the knight said breathlessly, his forehead beaded with sweat, “I was hoping to not… pop off so soon.” Still trying to catch his breath, the Chosen Undead kissed the mage’s nose as the man stopped stroking them both. Rickert gently squeezed the knight with the arm he had wrapped around him, giving him a lewd, if a bit shy at the very start, smile.

As a rare demonstration of initiating affection, the mage then kissed Favian on the lips in a heated kiss before replying, “I’m certainly not complaining,” he paused in order to kiss the knight some more, “but… do you think you could… lay down on your side? I know there’s not much room, but there’s something I wish to do...” The mage smith slid off the Chosen Undead and stood, going off to the corner with the basin and pump to grab a washcloth and wet it. 

Behind him, he could hear the bed softly creak as the knight laid down, facing the hole in the wall he entered through. “What  _are_ you planning?” he chirruped with a soft laugh as the blacksmith ambled to the front of the cot.

“Ahh, wrong side. I just… your thighs… they’re so… they’re just… yours look so _good_ ,” Rickert responded, looking at the knight’s reclining form with wanting awe. At this point, the smith felt encouraged, and thus felt comfortable reaching forward and delicately cleaning off the Chosen Undead’s softening prick after gulping. Thanking him with a warm smile, Favian turned over on the narrow cot. The mattress groaned underneath him as he felt the warm presence of the Vinheimian hop onto the bed.

Warm hands  cupped and squeezed his rear before he felt Rickert’s breath tickling the hairs on the back of his neck. “Open your legs a little,” he instructed, moving his hands to the space between the Chosen Undead’s thighs. When Favian complied, a choked breath escaped his lips at he felt something warm and fleshy placed between them before hands gently pushed his thighs back together. The mage pressed into his entire backside, gripped his wide hips, and began to  drive his hard and weeping member  between the knight’s thighs .

R ickert whimpered between worried lips and peppered the Chosen Undead’s shoulders and neck with kisses. “Hnn… this feels better than I imagined it would in my head,” the mage smith grunted, reveling in the sensation of the knight’s plump rear smacking up against him with every lunge of his hips. He angled his head to look down at his activity, then groaned throatily. 

“Gods you’re so perfect,” the mage mewled as his fingernails began to dig into the other man’s pelvis. He nuzzles the Chosen Undead’s hair and neck while wrapping his free hand over their heads. The hand griping Favian snaked down to his other right thigh in order to close the thighs down on each other with a tighter fit. Sweat began to dampen the cropped hair of the smith as he continued to extract every bit of pleasure he could from fucking the thighs of his lover. The heat between the two of them steadily began to grow until both of their bodies glistened beautifully in the dark.

The Vinheimian observed his partner’s head drop down, as if looking at the small space between the wall and his body. “Gods, that looks so damn incredible. Too bad I’m already spent,” the knight remarked with a rich moan before tilting his head back onto Rickert’s shoulders and closing his eyes. Nuzzling his hair,  the mage chuckled affectionately; given how well this had turned out, he imagined they’d have plenty of opportunity later. 

Given his level of arousal and how exquisite it felt to have his cock pressed between the Chosen Undead’s glorious thighs, the blacksmith knew that he couldn’t last much longer. With the pressure building in his loins,  he knew how eminent his orgasm would be. Still, he did not pause or relent, desire to hold back, after spending so many years simply consumed by his own desire to be touched, to feel the touch of another man. The smell of their sweat and sex filled his nostrils and the sound of smacking flesh flooded his ears; if not for the bed underneath them, Rickert would have forgotten where he laid.

It took one more glance at the sight of their bodies connecting for him to  splatter cum all over the insides of the Chosen Undead’s thighs as well as the wall and some of the bedding with a winsome whimper. Finally, he came to a rest, curling up against Favian’s broad backside and wrapping both of his arms around the knight as best as he could. “Give me a second,” Rickert gasped, his sweat-gleaming chest heaving against his lover, “ Just want to catch my breath.” He laid there for about a minute longer before getting up from the cot.

After cleaning himself off, the Undead blacksmith returned with a new damp washcloth to clean off not only Favian, but the wall and bedding he had spent on. The knight sat up, smiling lovingly at Rickert with a ruddy faced and wiggled his toes. The stone  felt unsurprisingly cold to the touch. Then, he frowned slightly  before saying, “As much as I’d like to say, your bed isn’t comfortable for two people and I need to get a move on. The Bed of Chaos won’t defeat itself.”

Reluctantly, he pulled up his pants, then stood up to equip his armor. While the mage felt keenly disappointed, he knew his utilitarian quarters weren’t fit for two people to stay in. Nodding understandingly at his boyfriend, Rickert began to pull on his own clothing. He watched the Chosen Undead assemble his armor on his body and sighed wistfully. Everything had gone far better than he expected; not perfect, to be sure, but the smith never considered  _this_ within the realm of possibility.

Once the knight had gotten all his gear on, he gave Rickert a parting hug and a long, passionate kiss. Taking the blacksmith’s hands into his own, the Chosen Undead bid of him, “Please, come visit Firelink Shrine above some time. It would mean the world to me, to see you in full daylight and for the tables to be turned.” His eager, tender grin made the mage feel like he could dissolve into the stone right then and there; how could he deny such a request?

“As scared as I am of going Hollow… I promise I shall.”

Giving the Vinheimian’s hands one last squeeze, the Undead knight headed out of the hole he made. He waved before he headed up the stairs. The mage, of course, waved back and raptly watched him until the wall of his cell obscured his view. Exhaling sharply, Rickert wandered back over to the bed,  laid down, and curled up under the blanket and sheet. Weariness took hold, and he drifted off to a comfortable sleep as he thought of being in those welcoming arms again.

  
**********************  


The Chosen Undead reemerged in Firelink Shrine, victorious after traversing the Ruins of Izalith and facing the Bed of Chaos. He took off his helm and ruffled his sweaty hair, glad to above the surface again where it was far less sweltering and he could see the blue sky. Sitting down in front of the bonfire, he felt content to watch the flames dance and crackle on the bleached bones of departed Undead. Though the rays of the sun warmed his skin, the sensation was far more welcoming than the feverish heat of the lava below. In the distance, the giant crow cawed idly as she looked over the shrine.

Out of the corner of his eye, Favian saw a mostly black form creep up the straits from below. Turning his head completely, he took in the sight of Rickert ambling nervously towards him in his black and blue mage smith garb. To his total lack of surprise, the man not only squinted, but shielded his eyes from the sun, having been in the dark of New Londo for so long. The Chosen Undead’s lips split into a wide grin, and he couldn’t stand up fast enough to greet his boyfriend.

Under the decent lighting, he could see the details he never noticed before, such  as the brown-black of Rickert’s hair.

“You made it up here.”

“Of course I did. I had to see you.”


End file.
